eating this
here, describe this meal. burning
bread and crying cheese. just like poems
are not about rounding words, but rather
fingering spoons. hand to mouth and it’s
the motion that counts. your hand inside
mine at the eating tabletop. tell me how
it is your little finger moves, pull that string
to the beginning end. tell me where the
nurture is. cooking, we begin. hunger
don’t mean what goes in mouth.
please or no, another dawn. whether
or no, you think your hands assemble
a prayer, you do. one cat whose nose
made home in my scent, dirty shirts
waiting turns on the closet floor. did
she recall that first open door not lost?
and fed me wanting for months and
days. here, here’s a mouth.
neil reid © october 2013
written for We Write Poems prompt Food, Glorious Food by Pamela
with thanks and credit to Dylan and his mom Liz for that phrase, “crying cheese” (cheese crying). please do read her post about her autistic son and how his experience reveals something new about our regard for language.
bearly audible 